


The Only Constant

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Life After Meteor [19]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: BROTPs abound, F/M, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-Series, Preventers (Gundam Wing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16581314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: AC 210 brings change with it.  Trowa begins his global expedition taking photos as he goes.  Quatre keeps tabs on him and reconnects with Dorothy.  Wufei braces for a major milestone in his relationship with Relena.  Sally comforts Mariemaia, who is struggling with embracing the next phase of adulthood.  Duo begins shadowing his boss so that - assuming President Reuson is reelected - he can take over her job.  Come spring, Heero has left the Preventers and he and Duo adjust to life living together under the same roof after years apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 19 of the [Life After Meteor](https://archiveofourown.org/series/391015) series, which trails the Gundam Pilots (and others) through the years post-war. Welcome comments/feedback.
> 
> Also I continue to owe an unending debt of gratitude to [tumbledrylemur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbledrylemur/) for the beta reading. This monster of a series is better for all your help - I couldn't do it without you. <3

**Staff Conference Room, President’s Mansion**  
**Brussels, Belgium  
** **31 January 210**

Duo lowered himself into a chair at the small conference table and buried his face into his hands with a groan.  He wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into, reflecting back over the last month. 

They had announced his deputization once everyone was back from holiday and he began shadowing their Chief of Staff immediately thereafter.  He had been following Mendoza for weeks, and felt he was no closer to even remotely being able to step into her shoes.  The woman was a beast and the days since his new duties began only reaffirmed his past assessment that she ran on caffeine and adrenaline.  ‘Keep up,’ had been a recurring phrase that was grating him more than he’d like to admit.  Meanwhile, the first trip in support of the President’s re-election was looming, and Mendoza would be leaving the office in his care.  

He was beginning to think that was a very bad idea. 

Leaning back in the chair, he ran his fingers through his bangs and laced them at the back of his head to stare up at the ceiling.  By all estimates he wasn’t even thirty yet and while he knew neither Mendoza or Reuson really cared, he couldn’t help the nagging concern that this was harder than it would be if he had an extra ten years to his name.  They were handing him the keys to the kingdom while a Sword of Damocles hung over his head.  Duo closed his eyes and groaned again, straightening in his seat. 

As he did so, there was a knock behind him followed immediately by the conference room door swinging open.  Mendoza herself stepped in and quickly shut it behind her.  Duo moved to stand, feeling suddenly embarrassed at being found at rest, but she waved him down.  “Don’t.  Sit,” she said, moving to take a seat near him.  “I’m sorry for interrupting your meditation, but I’d like to talk.” 

Duo swallowed past the vice that had locked around his throat.  He said nothing, and waited for his boss’s verdict. 

“Do you know why the President selected you to shadow me?”  Duo shook his head.  Mendoza continued, “Because I told him to.  Because he and I both know you can do this.  Because while I’m being pulled into staffing the President in the lead up to the election, I need to know now that the rest of the work is going to get done here at home.  

“I need _you_ to know that I’m teaching you how all of this works and what I do to keep the plane in the air based on _my understanding_ and what _I_ need to be good at my job,” she continued.  “I’m telling you what _I_ do.  But you’re not going to do it _my way_.  There’s nothing wrong with that, so long as it works for you and everyone else.  Do you understand?”  Duo nodded.  “Good.”  After a beat, a shadow of a smile graced Mendoza’s lips and she asked, “If you were the Chief of Staff _right now_...what would you change?” 

Duo studied her for a time, hesitant.  He’d developed a laundry list over the last four years, but surmised that was probably unwise to share in this moment.  But maybe...maybe a few things from the past week would be alright.  “Honestly?” he asked to confirm.  Now Mendoza did grin, nodding as if she was already accepting the criticism before he even opened his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Meddah Coffeehouse**  
**L4-V05001  
** **28 February 210**

“So are you the Representative yet?” 

“Dorothy,” Quatre hissed, barely resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder to check if anyone had overheard.  The woman had no sense of decorum when she was on a roll.  And on a roll, she was. 

“Honestly, Quatre,” Dorothy teased, laughing, “I bring you a report to die for and you’re still just the help.” 

“It’s only been three months since we last met!” 

“Are you telling me to just be patient?  Have you finally accepted the mantle of leadership that’s due to you?” 

“I’d like to spend some time _not_ in charge,” he told her.  “I want to see if this career is the right fit before committing myself, thank you very much.” 

Dorothy gave him a sweet smile that was laced with knives.  “Caution is wise, but it’s also for the old.  You’re young and hungry and restless.  You should embrace that.  Run them all into the ground.” 

“Is that what you’re doing?” Quatre asked.  He sensed that perhaps it was an unfair question, making light of her fight for recognition.  Dorothy had a reputation among consulting firms if Noin’s word could be believed (and he knew it could).  ‘Vicious’ got bandied about often.  It seemed unjust. 

But then, he could empathize, thinking about the moniker the business community had given him years ago.  Sitting across from a cooly confident Dorothy Catalonia made him feel all the more like the angel-faced pit viper his competitors made him out to be. 

Leaning forward, Dorothy confided, “I’ll run as many of them into the ground as I can, Quatre Winner.  One project, one contract at a time.  Which brings me to the work you asked me to do. 

“The Saudis are giving L4 a bad deal.  They know it.  You know it.  They know you know it, and  they don’t care.  They are banking on L4 taking it anyway to get into the political circles that Riyadh plays in.” 

“We figured as much,” Quatre told her.  “What are our alternatives?” 

“If you want to play by Earth’s rules, you take the deal.  You’ll get instant access to the markets in the Middle East for the low, low price of giving the top five Middle Eastern economies what they want when they want it.” 

Quatre grimaced and looked away as Dorothy sat back in her chair.  Across the street, children were playing in one of the colony’s public parks.  He watched a little girl in a bright pink hijab run down a Chinese girl in pigtails who was guarding her control of a football, a trio of boys hot on their heels.  L4 was changing.  For the better, he thought.  First with their welcoming of so many of the L5 refugees; then again with independence.  Now, as their government had solidified, they had another opportunity to make their presence—and their strength—known. 

“And if we _don’t_ play by their rules?” Quatre asked at last, turning back to face Dorothy. 

“Have you talked to Yemen?” she asked casually, picking up her cappuccino and taking a sip.  “Or Syria?  Iraq?  Jordan?” 

“No.” 

“Maybe you should.”  Setting her cup back down, she leaned forward once more.  “L4 isn’t the only one getting a bad deal.  Riyadh may be a big player, but L4 is a _new_ player.  People are watching what you do.  You have a lot to offer and new terms of engagement.  I recommend you use it to your advantage.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Essaouira, Morocco  
** **26 March 210**

Trowa had arrived in Essaouira and had spent several days wandering the coastal city, getting familiar with the neighborhoods while keeping his ears open for possible work to fund the next leg of his travels.  The communities he wandered through were curious about this newcomer who arrived on the bed of a pick-up truck with only a backpack and his camera.  “Why on earth are you here?” many had asked him.  “To take pictures,” Trowa had usually replied, “and work for a bit.  Then I’ll be gone.” 

Eventually, someone had recommended he talk to the owner of one of the larger garages.  As chance would have it, one of their chief mechanics had just gone on her honeymoon and they were short-staffed for the coming weeks. Trowa’s arrival couldn’t have been better-timed.  The need for a temporary worker who had experience working with machines had overridden any reservations the owner may have had about hiring a drifter.  

In the end, however, he had acknowledged it was his wife who would make the final call.  The owner had guided Trowa to a small house next door and introduced him to his wife, a short woman dressed in bright colors who struck Trowa as being bigger than the body she had been given.  When the garage owner had introduced Trowa, she asked, “What do you _do_ , Trowa Barton?  Where are your kin?” 

“I take photographs,” he had told her, deploying his ready response.  “Places, but people too.  I do odd jobs to pay for travel, food, housing...  I used to be an acrobat and a clown with a traveling circus.  So I guess my kin are wherever they are now.  I’m not exactly sure where that is at the moment.” 

“An acrobat?” the woman had asked, sounding skeptical.  “Prove it.” 

Trowa had glanced between the woman, his potential employer, and their three daughters—clearly triplets—who had poked their heads around the corner as the adults talked.  “Sure,” Trowa replied and gestured to the front door through which he had just entered.  He walked outside and was followed by the family, which hovered by the door clustered together.  He took several strides away, judged the distance between where he stood and the garage wall, and bent to unlace and remove his shoes.  Now barefoot, the dirt of the drive warm under his toes, he took a deep breath.  Two steps then—round-off, back handspring, quadruple twist. [1] 

Emphatic applause from little hands had answered his sticking the landing and, pivoting back around he found the couple laughing while their daughters tugged at their clothes, insisting Trowa stay.  Trowa strode back to his shoes and balancing on one leg he dusted off his foot and put his shoe back on, repeating the process with the other while he awaited the verdict.

“You’re telling me you gave up acrobatics and took up nomadic photography,” the woman said as Trowa straightened to face them.  She sounded a bit incredulous.  “With talent like that you could be doing far more than working at a circus, much less as a temp in our garage.” 

Trowa had shrugged, feeling suddenly shy.  “Developing film gets expensive, ma’am.  Have to pay for things some way.  I couldn’t be an acrobat forever, not when that isn’t want I want to do.” 

The woman studied him for a time.  She turned then to her husband and Trowa watched them have a conversation without exchanging a word.  It made him smile.  When she turned back to him, she nodded.  “Alright,” she said.  “Alright.  Into the garage you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] See [here](https://youtu.be/qk5nFKushBU?t=8m1s)


	4. Chapter 4

**Darlian Family Country Home**  
**North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany  
** **9 April 210**

“So what is it that you wanted to ask me?” Mrs. Mareen Darlian mused as they walked side by side in the damp April morning through the Darlian home’s apple orchard.  The rain had stopped before the day had truly begun, but it had left the air feeling heavy and cloying around them as they walked through the rows of trees.  They were silent sentinels as the fog began to roll in.  “I assume this has to do with my daughter or else we would have invited her along.  She’s going to wonder where we ran off to.  Highly suspicious.” 

“I know,” Wufei acknowledged, “but...but I’m not ready for her to know yet.” 

“Know what?” 

Taking a deep breath, Wufei answered, “I’d like to ask your permission to propose.” 

Darlian laughed and shook her head.  “We’re hardly a traditional household, Wufei.  You don’t need to ask _my_ permission whether you can marry Relena.” 

“No, I know,” he assured.  “It’s less about asking your permission to propose and more...about family.”  He struggled for a moment, worrying the inside of his cheek between his teeth as he considered his words carefully.  Darlian waited patiently for him to continue as they walked side by side through the rows of apple trees.  “Relena…” he began, “she’s already part of my family.  I’d like to be part of hers, part of yours.  I don’t know if you want that.” 

“And why wouldn’t I?” Darlian asked, hooking her arm around his at the elbow.  “You two are good for each other from what I’ve seen.  And what’s more, I know my daughter.  She is _happy_ when she’s with you.  She’s not a government official when you’re around; she’s just a woman.  A woman in love, I’d dare to say.  But the world will notice when Relena gets married.  Are you ready to play that game?” 

Wufei considered the question, the ramifications.  He had slipped out of the public spotlight within a year of announcing he was Gundam Pilot Zero Five.  For Relena, the struggle to preserve some semblance of privacy was neverending.  He would lose any obscurity he had regained over the years and would be thrust back into the world of public scrutiny.  

But he found that that did not in fact bother him as much as he had originally anticipated.  Maybe because he wouldn’t be alone in facing the world and its expectations.  The thought made him smile as he echoed Darlian’s earlier comment.  “And why wouldn’t I be?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Preventers Headquarters**  
**Geneva, Switzerland  
** **31 May 210**

Heero had been surprised at the size of his farewell.  He had anticipated a small gathering, so when he arrived with Duo at the conference room, he was startled to find not only his division but several others represented, including the entirety of the Morale Booster Sub-Committee and Wufei, who had come down from the Front Office. [1]  

Unfortunately the Master of Ceremonies, Heero’s fellow Deputy Assistant Director Oskar Nilsson, didn’t let him mingle too long before he pulled Heero to the front of the room.  “I know you hate being the center of attention,” the man confided, leaning close, “but people want to send you off in style.”  

Heero had let them talk about him, occasionally casting glances for moral support over at Wufei and Duo who stood together toward the front of the room.  The assembled group offered professional accolades, heartfelt farewells, and humor in equal doses.  

And then it was Nilsson’s turn.  “Before we turn the floor over to our guest of honor, I do have to share one of my own stories,” Nilsson told the assembled group.  “Specifically, I’m going to tell you about the time I learned to both respect _and fear_ Heero Yuy. 

A low rumble of laughter met the comment, and Nilsson grinned.  “You see, Heero and I—and his partner Duo Maxwell—were classmates back in the early years of Preventers in ‘97.  We went through all the field and investigative training everyone else here in the room went through.  

“But I need you all to understand one thing, which is especially important seeing as they’re an item now: Heero and Duo were nigh inseparable.  They were _always_ there together, and if they weren’t together you knew the other one wasn’t far behind.  This extended to sparring sessions too.  But whereas Heero took the hits and the falls like the rest of us...Duo was a force of nature.  He was utterly ruthless and fought dirty.   _No one_ beat Duo Maxwell in a fight, and you’d be lucky to leave with all of your teeth still attached at your gums when you were paired with him.  He was _unstoppable_.  

“Every single one of us took our turn getting pummeled by Duo.  Except...Heero.  For whatever reason, whatever twist of Fate allowed it, they were never paired _against_ one another.  

“So the day comes where it’s my turn against Duo.  As the instructor lines us and our partners up and down the gym, I thank God I have dental insurance and get ready to have my ass handed to me. 

“But then...there’s this touch on my arm,” Nilsson paused to press his hand against Heero’s shoulder and pushed gently against him.  “And I look down—because it _was down_ at the time, even more so than now if you can believe it—to find Heero crowding my spot.  He’s not looking at me, mind you; he’s got his sights set on Duo who’s standing on the other side of the mat.” 

Heero glanced at Duo to find the man grinning.  He knew this story.  Or at least...to a point. 

Nilsson continued, “Seeing an out for what it was, I quickly ceded my spot to Heero and stepped aside.  He steps up...and across the mat, I watch as all of the blood _drains_ from Duo’s face.”  A smattering of laughter from the crowd, sensing the turn in the story.  “If you allow yourselves to imagine it, he looks like a man who has just witnessed his own death.  

“They square up.  The whistle blows.  And in a _flurry_ of arms and legs, it is over.  In mere seconds, Duo is sprawled unconscious on the mat—” Nilsson raised his arms haphazardly over his head before dropping them once more “—and Heero straightens, dusting off his shoulder,” which Nilsson also pantomimed.  

“Sensing a teaching moment, our instructor blows the whistle again—which was unnecessary, we were all so transfixed by the two of them that none of us had actually engaged.  And—knowing full well that Duo had been hitherto undefeated—asks, ‘Heero, how did you beat him?’ 

“Well, Heero looks at her,” Nilsson said, looking off over their heads as if at someone before him, “looks at Duo,” which Nilsson also did, “then back at her.  And he says, ‘Well, I hit him.  Really hard.’”  

Nilsson paused then as the room laughed and Heero felt his cheeks start to burn as he grinned at the memory, knowing what was coming.  Glancing at Duo, he caught his partner snickering while Wufei smirked beside him. 

“Not one to be deterred so easily,” Nilsson continued, “and by this point being familiar with Heero’s penchant for brevity, our instructor tried again.  ‘Heero,’ she says, _‘Why_ did you beat him?’ trying a different tack.  Heero again looks at her…looks at Duo…looks at us.”  Nilsson looked to his left and right, as if up and down a line of colleagues.  “Then back at her and says, ‘Oh...I just thought it was probably time to remind everyone who they should _really_ be scared of.’” 

The room around them erupted in raucous laughter.  “You didn’t!” Duo cried before clapping his hands over his face.  Beside him, Wufei threw his head back and laughed until he was red in the face.  

Meanwhile, Nilsson threw his arm over Heero’s shoulders and pulled him close, grinning.  To the crowd, he said, “And _that_ , everyone, is when I learned to both respect _and fear_ Heero Yuy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Reminder: Heero was a founding member of the Preventers Morale Booster Sub-Committee, made up of mid-level staff from across the organization, united in the highly important mission of keeping Wufei sane as their Chief of Staff.


	6. Chapter 6

**Duo and Heero’s Apartment**  
**Brussels, Belgium  
** **6 July 210**

“I’m getting a tattoo.” 

Trowa quirked an eyebrow at that.  “Oh?” he asked Heero.  “You know of what?” 

Heero nodded, cradling his cup of coffee between his hands as he drew his legs up to cross them before him on the couch.  “I’ve been going back and forth with an artist the last couple of weeks.  I think we have the design set.  It’s probably going to take all week, with the scarring.  The artist was kind enough to clear his schedule...” 

“How big a piece are you getting?” Trowa asked, startled at the time it would take.  He had accompanied friends at the Circus to get ink work done, and it had rarely taken more than a few hours at most. 

“Big.”  Heero gestured with a hand from his shoulder to his thigh. 

Trowa chuckled, surprised.  “You don’t waste much time, jumping in with two feet.”  

Heero smirked and shrugged. “I’ve thought about it awhile, but never really had the time or opportunity.  I have it now.” 

“So why haven’t you done it yet?” Trowa asked.  “You’ve been living the job-free life since May, from what I recall.” 

Heero fidgeted.  “Duo’s busy at the office, so I’d be going alone.  I know you’re only here until Tuesday, but I was hoping you’d be willing to come with me as moral support that first session, for the line work.” 

“When is it?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

Trowa laughed again.  “Of course I will come with you,” he assured and watched Heero brighten, seeming to give way to his excitement.  It was a refreshing sight.  “You didn’t say what you were getting.  Do you have the design?” 

Heero nodded and set his coffee cup down on the end table behind him.  Uncrossing his legs and shifting on the couch, he pulled his mobile from his back pocket and tapped the screen a few times before passing the device over to Trowa.  

On the screen before him, a phoenix rose out of billowing clouds of smoke and ash, its wings outstretched and its tail feathers curling and unfurling below in flames.  Despite the apparent violence of the subject, there was a delicate, almost fragile quality to the bird itself—a creature not in pain, but being reborn.  It was beautiful work, clearly done by someone with great attention to finer details. 

Looking up, Trowa found Heero watching him, expectant.  He smiled and told him, “It’s gorgeous.  And fitting.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Winner Family Compound**  
**L4-V05001  
** **3 August 210**

“Where are you now?” Quatre asked.  “I lost track of you when you left Brussels.”  

In the grainy videofeed playing on the screen before him, Trowa grinned roguishly.  He looked the part of the traveling photographer, unshaven and relaxed.  Quatre was loathe to admit it, but he would be lying to himself if he said the image Trowa presented didn’t hit all the right buttons. He pushed the thought aside. 

“After Brussels, I headed through Germany to Prague,” Trowa told him.  “Spent a couple days there before winding my way south toward the Balkans.  I just got into Hungary.  Planning on wrapping up in Istanbul sometime in November.” 

“That sounds wonderful,” Quatre sighed, feeling truly envious.  “How are your pictures coming along?” 

“Good,” Trowa acknowledged.  “There’s been a few places you have to work hard to not look like a tourist, but besides that…I think I’ve fixed a dozen cars, three motorcycles, a refrigerator…I’ve managed not to dip too much into the back-up funds.”  

“From the motorcycle you refurbished?” Quatre remembered the antique piece; Trowa had sent them all photos.  It was truly a work of art and he knew Trowa had been disappointed to part with it.  “What are you going to do with the photos you take on this excursion?” he asked, refocusing the conversation.  

“I haven’t planned that far ahead, Quat.” 

“Well, surely you’ll exhibit them, won’t you?”  On-screen, Trowa bit his lip and looked away.  “Oh, come now,” Quatre urged.  “I’ve seen some of them.  They’re excellent!  You _must_ showcase them.”  

“I don’t know if I’m quite up to that level,” Trowa admitted.  “There’s no way I’m anything more than an amateur.” 

“So?” Quatre challenged.  “There are plenty of shows specifically _for_ amateurs.  And really, everyone _starts_ as an amateur anyway.  Find a show.  See where it goes.” 

“If I agree to such a thing, will you ease off on the subject until November?” 

Quatre smirked.  “November, I can’t guarantee.  But certainly until October.”  

“Deal!” Trowa agreed, laughing. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Duo and Heero’s Apartment**  
**Brussels, Belgium  
** **12 September 210**

Heero walked into the small office Duo had set up in their apartment to keep up with the increased workload since taking on the de facto deputy Chief of Staff position.  He found his partner at the desk, as was usually the case...but not exactly as he had expected. 

Duo sat in a t-shirt and sweats hunched over before the computer screen at his desk.  His arms were crossed on the desk itself, pillowing his head while his braid trailed down toward the floor.  Heero sighed and walked over to his partner, whispering, “Duo?”  The man didn’t stir, and as he approached he could hear the soft, tell-tale breathing of sleep.  Bending forward, he brushed aside the queue and pressed a chaste kiss to the nape of Duo’s neck. 

This did rouse the man. Duo inhaled sharply through his nose and slowly straightened, disoriented.  He looked at the computer, then up at Heero. 

“You fell asleep,” Heero informed him.  

Duo groaned.  “Really?  Shit.”  He scrubbed briskly at his face and then rolled his head from side to side, his neck popping.  

“Come to bed,” Heero urged. 

“But—” 

“You are no good to anyone if you’re dead tired,” Heero asserted, reaching down to tug at Duo’s hand.  “Come to bed.  If it’s urgent, they will _call_ you and wake us _both_ up.” 

Duo hesitated only a moment longer...and yawned deeply, letting himself be pulled to his feet by his partner.  Heero tugged him out of the office and down the hall to the bedroom, only releasing his hand once they were safely inside and he could shut the door behind them.  Heero moved to his side of the bed as Duo climbed under the covers, all but collapsing against the pillow.  

As Heero joined him, Duo muttered, “Alarm.” 

“It’s already set,” Heero told him.  Once he settled on his back, Duo rolled over and curled up against him, his head on Heero’s shoulder.  He ducked his head to kiss the crown of Duo’s head.  “Sleep,” he urged.  Duo hummed against him, already halfway there.


	9. Chapter 9

**Wufei Zhang’s Apartment**  
**Geneva, Switzerland  
** **18 October 210**

“Stop laughing!” Wufei fumed.  “This is a very serious matter!” 

On the other end of the line, he could hear Quatre struggle to regain his composure with some difficulty.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the man insisted, “but why on Earth would you expect her to say ‘no?’”  Wufei didn’t have a ready answer for that.  Quatre filled the silence that followed, “She’s _not_ going to say ‘no.’  Building contingency plans around her saying ‘no’ is a bit much, even for you.” 

Wufei sighed and began to pace his apartment.  “She shouldn’t feel like she doesn’t have an option,” he explained. “Public proposals put an expectation of ‘yes’ on the recipient and that’s unacceptable.  She should be able to say ‘no’ without fear of repercussions.  If it’s not public, she can deny me and I’ll...make up some excuse to leave.” 

“Wufei—” 

“If I leave she’d still be able to enjoy the holiday.  I’ll just extract myself—” 

“Wufei,” Quatre repeated, his voice sounding to Wufei as if his friend was trying to talk him off of a ledge.  “She won’t say ‘no.’  I am certain of this.  But if I can help make the asking—and the answering—easier, then I will.  

“I’m hosting a large benefit on Christmas Eve,” Quatre continued.  “I haven’t told anyone else yet because we just finalized the plans today.  Food, drinks, live music...it will be fun, for everyone I hope.  

“And if you two wanted to steal off somewhere for a private conversation,” he added, his words taking on a conspiratorial edge, “then that could be _arranged_.” 

Wufei considered the offer and took a deep breath. The future was catching up with him, leaving him feeling disoriented.  He really was going to ask her.  He took several steps to the couch and sat down, hoping to dispel the dizzying feeling.  “Okay,” was all he could manage. 

“Consider it done,” Quatre told him.  Then, shifting gears, he asked, “Do you have a ring?” 

“Yes,” Wufei replied, leaning forward where he sat to brace his elbows on his knees.  “Mareen—Mrs. Darlian—and I chose one.  It was _her_ mother’s.” 

“Classically romantic in every way,” Quatre appraised.  “She’ll love it.” 

Wufei hoped so.


	10. Chapter 10

**Yildiz Royal Garden**  
**Istanbul, Turkey  
** **30 November 210**

“Before you ask,” Trowa began, “I have made contact with a gallery.” 

On the phone, Quatre laughed in his ear.  The sound was honest and sweet and sent pleasant chills down Trowa’s spine despite the warmth of the breeze that ruffled his hair and the leaves in the trees overhead.  He leaned back against the bench on which he sat, focusing on the fountain several yards ahead of him.  “They asked to see the ‘portfolio,’” Trowa continued, “as if I’ve been doing this long enough to have one.  I sent them some from Morocco and Kosovo, blamed being on the road for the lack of formal presentation.  They seemed interested, last I talked to them.  I should hear back for certain by the end of the year.” 

“Told you,” Quatre teased.  “But now you know you need an actual portfolio.” 

“I’ll add it to the list of things to do after I’m done here,” Trowa said.  “I’m going to reconnect with Cathy before coming up to L4 for the reunion.  I’ll aim to set something up before I leave.” 

“Good, because I want to see them too,” Quatre said.  

He sounded...excited, as if seeing Trowa’s work was the best possible use of his time.  Trowa was skeptical, but couldn’t help the nervous flutter in his belly all the same.  “You’ll have to go easy on me.  I haven’t culled the worst ones yet.  The show’s not until the spring, so I’ll have more time to work on the photos before they go to the gallery.  If they agree to show them, I’ll get a small pocket of the exhibition, maybe two or three photos on a wall.”  

“It sounds incredibly exciting.  And of course they will agree to show your work.” 

“Quat, don’t get my hopes up,” Trowa cautioned.  “I know there are going to be people out there that aren’t going to like my work.  I need to be okay with that when it happens.” 

There was the briefest of pauses as Quatre took that on.  When he spoke again, his excitement was tempered.  “Okay,” he conceded, “I’ll rein in my more explicit displays of stubborn confidence.  For your professional and mental well-being.  But know it’s still there.” 

Trowa tilted his head back to look up at the afternoon sky, smiling.  “Thank you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Une Residence**  
**London, England  
** **8 December 210**

Sally rapped lightly on the door to Mariemaia’s bedroom.  The young woman had not come downstairs for breakfast, which was highly out of character in their experience, and so Une had sent her up to check on her. 

A watery reply met the knock.  “Yes?” 

Concerned, Sally asked, “Can I come in?” 

“Yes.”  Stronger this time, but not by much. 

Sally opened the door to find Mariemaia sitting on her bed with her legs drawn up to her chest, furiously scrubbing at her face with her hands, clearly distraught.  “Hey…” Sally began, crossing the room and reaching out to the young woman who took her hands and tugged her down to sit her next to her on the bed.  Mariemaia then wrapped her arms around Sally’s midsection and buried her face in Sally’s shoulder as a weak sob escaped her lips.  

Bewildered, Sally returned the embrace and asked, “What’s wrong?”  Mariemaia took several gasping breaths trying to regain her composure.  Sally gave her a moment to do so, running her fingers through the mop of red hair which Mariemaia had let grow long over the years. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Mariemaia replied after a time, clinging to Sally like a lifeline. 

“It’s okay,” Sally assured.  “No one knows what they’re doing.” 

“But _I_ don’t know what _I’m_ doing,” Mariemaia clarified.  “I graduate in the spring and I don’t know, I just don’t know—do I go get another degree?  Do I get a job?  What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go—?”  She gasped and coughed, so desperate to put her fears to words that she ran out of breath. 

Sally rocked the young woman in her arms, hoping to soothe.  Mariemaia had successfully survived her experience with higher learning and had managed to reach nearly the end of the road largely unscathed.  But Sally knew something had been bothering her since her arrival for the winter holiday.  What had instigated Mariemaia’s outburst so early in the morning she didn’t know, but for the moment, it didn’t matter. 

“It’s okay to be uncertain,” Sally reassured.  “It’s okay to be scared.” 

“You’re _never_ uncertain or scared,” Mariemaia challenged.  “Neither you or mom.  You’re too strong for that.” 

Sally couldn’t help the bitter laugh in response to that.  “Oh, Marie…  Hardly.  We’d never have enough time to enumerate all the times your mother or I have been scared and uncertain.  Being an adult has nothing to do with being certain about everything; rather it’s knowing that you _don’t_ have all the answers and recognizing that there’s no direction to go but forward, come what may.  Be scared, but do it anyway. [1] 

“But that’s neither here nor there right at this moment,” she continued, pulling away and taking Mariemaia’s face in her hands and wiping the tears from her cheeks.  “You don’t need to have answers now.  Or when you go back to school.  Or even when you graduate.  Okay?  You can figure it out at your own pace and chart your own course and your mother and I will be there for you as you do.  

“However,” Sally concluded, “I don’t encourage any self-discovery on an empty stomach.”  Mariemaia rewarded her with a dry laugh and nodded, seeming emotionally spent.   Standing, Sally bent forward and pressed a kiss to the crown of the young woman’s head.  “Take a moment.  Breathe.  And then come downstairs for something to eat, okay?  We’ll tackle whatever comes together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Easter Egg, inspired by Carrie Fisher


	12. Chapter 12

**Brussels, Belgium  
** **11 December 210**

They had spent the ride to the airport talking about anything _but_ the upcoming departure.  They had rented a car to get them to the secluded airfield used by the President and his staff.  They had wanted to make use of the few extra hours together before Duo departed on a whirlwind marathon trip that would keep them apart until they reconnected on L4 for Quatre’s hosted reunion.  

But as they drew closer to their destination, the two of them grew quieter: Heero focused on the road ahead and Duo’s eyes drawn to the world out his window.  Judging by the shared silence, Heero suspected the parting would be difficult for them both. 

It was not as if Duo _hadn’t_ traveled with the President since that fateful trip to Uganda in ‘08; but this would be the first time since Heero had moved in.  Something about that set it apart, making their impending farewell something more than it was, as if it was foreshadowing years of much the same to come. 

They paused only a moment at the front gate of the airfield, the guard waving them through when Duo flashed his badge.  They then took the meandering drive to the small parking lot and private waiting area.  Heero recognized several of the office staff from last year’s Christmas party.  Many of them were bidding their families farewell or dragging suitcases behind them as they entered the small building separating the parking lot from the tarmac. 

Once they had parked, the two of them got out of the car.  Duo grabbed his bag from the back and then walked around the vehicle to Heero’s side and paused before him.  “Can you do something for me while I’m gone?” 

“Anything.” 

“Write.”  Duo gave him a slow-blooming smile, one that reached his eyes and was reserved just for Heero. 

“Would you read it?” Heero asked, scoffing. 

“If you let me,” Duo replied. 

Heero sobered at this, studying his partner.  Duo studied him right back.  “You’re serious,” he observed. 

Duo broke their shared gaze first, turning his eyes to focus on some distant thing over Heero’s shoulder as he adjusted the strap of his bag.  “You’ve been so focused on _us_.  You need to focus on _you_ too, you know.  You were always a prolific writer; you clearly loved it.  But as far as I can tell, you haven’t touched your journals since moving in.” 

There was truth to the words, Heero knew.  He _hadn’t_ written anything since he had moved in.  Earlier than that, if he was honest with himself.  The words had been walled up in his head for a year, stubbornly refusing to flow to the page as his satisfaction with his job had waned.  They had offered no respite from his work life and now, when he had nothing _else_ he could reasonably be doing, he hesitated to take up the pen again.  

“What would you want me to do?” Heero asked at last, seeking some direction, some assurance. 

Duo looked up again and smiled warmly.  He reached out to take Heero’s face in his hands, running his thumbs over his cheekbones before leaning forward and kissing him soundly.  It left Heero breathless when they parted.  “Fill the pages,” Duo urged.  

Heero grasped at Duo’s jacket collar and pulled him close for another kiss.  Sweeter this time, a promise.  He then drew Duo into a tight embrace and closed his eyes.  Duo felt sturdy in his arms, real.  He sighed deeply against the other man.  

After a time, Duo murmured against him, withdrawing, “I’ll see you on L4, okay?” 

Heero nodded and let the other man slip from his arms.


End file.
